


There's a Charm to Coming Home

by irish_gold



Series: drabbles [9]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Arsenal FC, M/M, Zayn's a football player
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irish_gold/pseuds/irish_gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn decides that even though there’s ten other players on his team, it was all his fault that they’d lost the game.</p><p>Or: A football player Zayn Malik drabble, because there aren’t enough of those around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a Charm to Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> what a horrible summary, sorry. i wrote this a while ago, before zayn left the band but i hadn't posted it here. anyways i don't know if its any good, i wrote this because there isn't enough sporty!zayn out there. (he may not be any good at sports in real life but hey! this is all purely fiction) well i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated! :) x

It isn’t rare for them to lose. It happens sometimes, more times then Zayn can count and really he should be used to it. Used to losing a match by a goal or even tying a game. He should be used to it. But  _should_  doesn’t mean he  _is_  used to it. No. Every time Arsenal loses he feels a heavy weight settle on his chest and reminds himself after every lost match that  _it’s me own fault that we lost, if I hadn’t let that player take the ball from me then maybe_ — reminds himself of all the mistakes he’d made during that match.

 

The part Zayn hated the most of losing a match was having to shake the rival teams’ hands. He would congratulate them and tell them that  _it was a good match you guys played well, it was a match won fairly, congrats._  It would take him no less than five minutes to congratulate the rival team and get the occasional hug from one of his own team mates. After that he’d take off, he didn’t want to be on the pitch any longer than he needed to.

 

Zayn would slowly make his way to the locker room, not rushing like he usually would after a match that they’d won, and his walk there would consist of muttering to himself, cursing himself for losing the bloody ball or missing a clear fucking shot into the net. And once he’d get there he would sit on the bench and ignore all calls from his team mates, “Oi Malik! You up for some pints?” Kieran would holler from across the room.

 

He’d shake his head and wouldn’t bother to look back or even respond by using his words.

 

 _If I hadn’t missed that clear shot then we would have won,_  Zayn thought as he got out of his kit,  _if I had just held on to the ball whilst that defender tried to take it from me then maybe I could’ve passed it off to Aaron or Alexis. If I didn’t_ — He was cut off from his thoughts when he felt Danny nudging his side.

 

Danny spoke up, “You good mate? I can hear you thinking from here.”

 

Zayn shrugged, “I’m fine,” he said. This conversation happened every time they lost. Zayn would be questioned by one of his team mates, asked whether he’s all right. And he would respond the same way every time.

 

Danny sighed, “You blaming yourself again, Malik? ‘Cause if you are, then I may just smack some sense into ya. Us losing the match isn’t your fault. The whole team had a bad game. I mean, did you see how many times I lost the ball? Every ball passed to me was quickly swept by some United player.”

 

Again, Zayn shrugged. He felt uncomfortable speaking about this. Zayn understood that it wasn’t completely his fault, but it had been partially his fault. “Stop overthinking everything mate, you played fine this match.” Danny told him. He began to get dressed signalling the end of this conversation.

 

Zayn did as well, got dressed fast and rushed out of the locker room, throwing goodbyes over his shoulder but not stopping to chat with someone.

_

 

He was walking towards his car when he heard shouts, “That match was shite! You saw all those fouls Man United was making?! That referee was definitely paid by United, probably told to not mark any fouls.” It was a drunken middle aged man.

 

Zayn shook his head, he knew how competitive fans could be. After a lost match he’d hear the same things from fans of their team; the game was rigged, the referee was biased and the player that made the goal was offside, it didn’t count! Unlike most players the fans were refusing to believe that the rival team won the game fairly.

 

After getting in his car Zayns’ mobile rang, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. Zayn already who it was without even looking at the caller ID, it was always the same person who would call him after every match. “Hey Ni,” Zayn spoke into the phone.

 

“ _Hey Zee, was wondering if you’re coming over tonight_?” Niall responded, he was quiet. It was because Niall knew that telling Zayn  _it’s okay that you lost, there’s plenty of more matches coming u_ p wouldn’t do anything to make Zayn feel better.

 

Zayn smiled, “ ‘Course I am, where else would I go?”

 

Niall laughed, a scratchy loud sound that comforted Zayn,  _“Dunno? You’re the Zayn Malik, where wouldn’t you go after a match?”_

 

Chuckling Zayn responded, “Well  _the_ Zayn Malik will see you at your house in about ten minutes, alright? I’m gonna start driving so I’ll see you in a bit love.”

 

“ _Alright, see you, drive safely._ ” He hung up, leaving Zayn in silence and with his thoughts.

_

 

Getting to Niall’s place was easy, it wasn’t long before he was parking the car and entering in the building. Niall didn’t live far from the stadium which was very much appreciated as Zayn was always tired after a match to drive to his own flat that was the least an hour away.

 

Entering into Niall’s flat he was greeted by the strong scent of food reminding him that it’d been awhile since he ate. “ _Honey_ I’m home!” Zayn yelled into the apartment.

 

He walked to the kitchen, finding a chuffed looking Niall. His back was turned to Zayn as he spoke, “Well I hope you’re hungry  _honey_ , ‘cos I’ve made a whole bunch of food.”

 

Crossing the kitchen Zayn wrapped his arms around Niall’s waist, “Mhm, I’m starving.” he said speaking into the back of Niall’s neck.

 

Niall tried shaking Zayn, “Get off me Malik, I’m trying to cook here!”

 

Zayn shook his head, pressing his lips to the back of Niall’s neck he muttered, “No can do, M’quite comfortable here.” Niall gave up on getting Zayn off of him and instead continued to cook.

 

After he was done he demanded Zayn to set the table.

 

Dinner was quiet; the only sound made was from the table ware hitting the plates and such. Niall didn’t try to converse with Zayn, he knew from experience that after he’s lost a match he just wants peace and quiet.

 

They had put their plates into the sink, not bothering to wash them, “Off to a shower than Malik? You’re quite stinky.” Niall spoke up. He pulled Zayn’s hand getting him to walk towards the bathroom.

 

In there they both stripped and stepped into the bath. Zayn pulled Niall against his chest, wanting to have Niall as close to himself as he could.

 

_

After they’d washed up they would dry themselves and fall into their bed, omitting any clothes.

 

They’d lay face to face, Zayn’s right arm rested on Niall’s waist. They would lay there quietly until Niall spoke quietly, “I watched the match Zee. I don’t think you played all that bad.” Zayn shrugged, he didn’t have anything to say. His own opinions on his performance contrasted Nialls’. Zayn was also aware that if he tried to argue that he had played horrible Niall would quickly refute anything Zayn said.

 

Zayn didn’t want to fight with him anyways, not tonight. Instead he pulled Niall closer and kissed the top of his head, “G’night Ni.” he whispered.

 

“Night Zee.”

 

In the morning Zayn would be awoken by Niall pressing kisses to his face and sure Zayn wouldn’t have forgotten the loss of yesterday but it certainly wouldn’t bother him as much as it had the night before. And he had a blond Irish lad to thank for that. 


End file.
